Falling Blue
by rendezvous
Summary: HoroHoro goes swimming; Ren, very conveniently, follows. HoroHoro does something stupid; Ren, just as conveniently, is there to rescue him. Shounen-ai.


**Falling Blue**

It's so cute.  I hate myself for writing it, uck.

---

"No."

"Oh, come on—"

"No."

"Give it a break!  It'll be fun, and—"

"Didn't you hear me the first time?  I said _no._"

"What's the point of you coming if you're not even going to _swim_?"

"I came here," he said, slowly, "To make sure you don't drown yourself off.  Don't you know the disadvantages of a two-member team?"

"Party-pooper," HoroHoro sulked, and stomped off by himself.  Ren watched him go with narrowed eyes.

Outside the heat had withered all that there was to wither: flowers, shrubbery, shamans, and spirits alike.  The participants in the Shaman Tournament had gone off to their own private business, the fight itself having been postponed until the week after.  If Ren had had his say, the fight would've continued come hell or high heaven.

But no, he was no priest; for that matter, he was no old lady with feathers stuck in her hair and with all the time in the world, most of it spent spying on the Shamans with her mini-technological inventions—a tidbit that Silva had let slip, one late night staying up with the mish-mash of shamans and crazy itako fiancees and oddly endearing human tagalongs.  If someone had told him that he, of all people, would be playing buddy-buddy come the Shaman Fight, he would've reminded them very promptly (with a sharp stab here or there) that Tao Ren needed no one_; _not Yoh and his constant blabber about the value of friendship (something that he had grudgingly found himself agreeing to every once in a while – but that was besides the point, really), or Ryu, who had been pining over Lyserg for the last few weeks, something that HoroHoro had been harping on a while back, and _speaking _of HoroHoro—

"I guess I'll have to fish you out of there," Ren said, "If you hit your head on something or the other."

"I know this," he said.  "Swimming is no biggie!"  

"You're not swimming."

"What does this look like, baka?"  He waved at him from where he stood on the diving platform, some fifty feet (or so it seemed to Ren) above water level.  

"It looks like suicide," he deadpanned.

HoroHoro scowled.  He could see the characteristic crease of brows and exagerrated downturn of mouth even from where he sat on the bench, bare legs crossed and sweating despite himself.  It was like a sauna in here, it was so hot.  _You would think with all their pre-fight formalities and elaborate arenas and billion-dollar fundings that they could install some air-conditioninghere or there, _he thought crossly, and contemplated getting up and dipping some toes in water.  Even that thought was decided against.  God, it was hot.  

Not that he had ever _believed _in God, but that was a different story altogether.

"...because you're _scared, _are you?"

He frowned up at HoroHoro.  "What?"

"I said," and he heaved a loud sigh at this, as if terribly frustrated by the other's incomprehension, "You're not coming up here because you're scared, are you?"

His eyes narrowed again.  "You think I'm scared of heights?"

"No?" he challenged.

"No."

"Then come up here.  Take a dive."

He closed his eyes, propped his chin against his chest, and pretended to go to sleep.  "What part of _no _don't you understand?"

"Oh for God's sake, Ren, why not?  I mean, it's okay to have fun once in a while—"

"You want to know why?"

"Yeah."

"Because you're telling me to do it.  Have I ever listened to anything you told me to do?"  He settled himself more comfortably against the wall, stretching a little as he went, and waited for the inevitable outburst—one that he would undoubtedly find amusing.

Nothing; then, _splash._

He waited.  Still nothing.  A single splash, and that had been all.  Nothing more, nothing less—one loud explosion of water scattering outwards—and then, _silence._

It was a silence that he was uncomfortable with, despite repeated complaints before that HoroHoro was too bouncy, too boisterous, just too—_loud_.  He cracked open an eyelid, slowly.  When that accomplished nothing but giving him a blurred view of the pool he opened it halfway, not wanting HoroHoro to see that he even cared.  And when he still couldn't see anything—he opened his eyes all the way, and there he was, a still form floating atop of placid waters, facedown and body cradled by the current.

In a skittery heartbeat he had darted up from his seat.  "HoroHoro?"  His feet had carried him to the poolside, breath coming unevenly.  "HoroHoro!"  He did not hesitate at all to jump in.  The water closed over his head like cold death.

_—the water oh god the water, and he's struggling to get out, and up, and away from the suffocating wetness that trickles into his nose his mouth down his throat despite all his efforts to keep it out but he can't he /can't/, because there's something holding him down, something gripping him by the scruff of his neck like he's a helpless kitten and he's gasping and dying and choking on liquid-cold **death**—_

"_HoroHoro!" _he yelled, but it came out a half-gurgle as the water crawled around him like wet eels, him thrashing desperately towards the other's still form.  He kicked harder.  Jun had tried to teach him how to swim once, and he had nearly bitten off her hand.  Now he wished he had actually listened, but no, he hadn't, because he just couldn't have been bothered with learning how to float, and how to paddle, and how to kick his legs, what in the world was the use of _that_—

—_desperation, the voice above rambling on about this technique or that training session and he still can't breathe and maybe, just maybe, he can hear the distant pleadings of Jun, telling their father to let him go, for the love of the gods, he was only a child, wasn't he being a little too extreme, and the pain inside his chest receding, just a little, loving her for her strength, her strength when he was all too weak—_

And his hands clasped around skin, a smooth leg, a waist—he cleared the water, gagging as he went.  Water ran down from his hair into his eyes, blinding and stinging like acid.  With his arms and legs burning he hauled the still form of HoroHoro up so that his face too met with air.  He was panting, and struggling against sinking, kicking rapidly tiring legs.  It felt eerie, because there was no one around, not even HoroHoro, not really, because he was out cold, and here he was, the almighty Tao Ren damn near close to a breakdown because some blue-haired tree-hugger had flopped of his own accord from a twenty-feet-high diving board—

_—she takes care of him afterwards, as she always does, eyes soft and the blankets tucked warm around his shoulders.  there is a bruise on his shoulder, as well as some cuts a few inches long across his chest, a bloody gash that refused to go away until weeks—months?—later.  she brings him his meals, and keeps the pillows fluffed around him, and sews his panda bear back together again.  jun had always been talented with needles like that._

The tiled floor felt ice-cold beneath his palms.  His breath still came out too fast, and panicked.  He pushed over HoroHoro, scrambled forward in looking for a pulse, and when he found it the relief exploded out of his lungs.  

Damn.  Why did he care so much in the first place?  So what if HoroHoro was just lying there like so much meat_—_it did not concern him if he looked like—like a—_corpse—_

His gorge slammed up.

Again he busied himself with checking the other's life signs.  Ren was not very good at it, because he was one concerned with destroying life, not preserving it; still, he had picked up a thing or two from Faust.  First, the pulse.  There—under his fingertips, strong and steady and sure.  Then the angle of the neck—fine.  And his chest—any bruises, contusions?—then the whites of his eyes—

It was while Ren was leaning over him, face lowered to his and fingertips cautious against the curve of his cheek, that the other awoke.

For a moment there was nothing but silence, as if neither of them really comprehended what had happened and what was still now happening, as if HoroHoro did not really see Ren hanging over him, as if Ren himself was not really aware of how close he had unconsciously moved in, how warm the other boy was, skin smooth underneath his hand, how bewildered he looked, how confused, lost, but not _scared_.  

"Ren?"  His eyes were dilated, or maybe that was only his imagination.  He attempted to sit up.  As if in a dream, Ren's hand pushed him back down.

"You're hurt," he said curtly, but it was with his fingers still warm against the skin at the base of his collarbone.

"What...happened?"  And he seemed almost...bemused, now, as if in shock.

"You fell off, you idiot."

"I did?"  He seemed to consider this for a while.  "Oh yeah, I did."  A sheepish smile, and then, "But I'm perfectly—"

"—Fine," Ren said, and leaned in to kiss him.  For a moment the other boy seemed to freeze under his touch, but then—and it was slowly, ever so cautiously—that his hand crept up to Ren's shoulder, tracing down a shivery path there before racing back up and clutching at his neck.  His lips were warm; he tasted of salt and a little like...chlorine.  Which made sense, if he wanted to think about it.

And then it was over.  Ren jerked away, snatching back his hand as if having been burned; and, in a way, he had.

"Don't ever do that to me again," he grated out harshly.  He left, nearly running out the door, grabbing up a towel with hands that trembled only a little.  The entrance closed, and the heat flooded over him like something alive.

-

It was at night Ren saw him again, outside their little living quarters, with the sounds of Yoh and Manta and Ryu arguing about this or that drifting out to accompany the chorus of cicadas.  He sat alone, watching nothing in particular.  A few minutes passed; the door creaked open, then shut again.

"I wanted to tell you," he said, without turning around.

"Ren?"  The other boy came to sit next to him, not touching but not very far away either.

"I'm not afraid of heights," he said, very clearly, "I'm afraid of drowning."  

It strangely did not take much out of him to say it at all.

"Oh."  Pause.  "...But you know what?"

"What?"  He turned to face him.

"You're still going swimming with me tomorrow," HoroHoro said, "Because, you know, with practice..."

"Baka!"  He couldn't help but laugh, and the tightness that was his chest loosened just the tiniest bit.

_--fin._

AN: Ugh.  I am ASHAMED of myself.  *goes off to hide*


End file.
